It's nice to have pets. It's nice to have something waiting for you when you get home in the evening, silently chilling in the corner with only the low soothing bubbling of the filter making any noise. I understand why fish are so popular here. They make for really nice decoration in relatively cramped conditions, and they're kinda personable when you really look at them. Enough so to make me kinda anxious about everything they do and don't do. These goldfish are now my babies, and no matter how resilient the good people of the internet tell me that they are, I'm terrified that I'll end up fucking them up.
When they fish aren't swimming around, Debu-chan's been kinda chilling on the bottom of the tank, which makes me a little nervous. I've spent a disproportionate amount of time today staring into the tank trying to figure stuff out. Is he okay? Is he happy? I feel like a mother hen, but when it's actual animals on the line I feel like I owe them to be happy and healthy. When reading up on this stuff I realize that there are a million things I should've done before getting these poor suckers, like setting up something known as the Nitrogen cycle and getting an eco system going, but I'm really trying to make up for my mistakes by being extra diligent. Reading articles on the matter scares me silly though. I hope they'll live, I really do.
As someone who hasn't had any experience with fish since my sister's goldfish Truman and Agda, back when I was maybe twelve, scouring the internet for every possible scrap of information seems to be to be my best bet. Then again, as someone who easily gets obsessed, I see death and disaster at every turn. "Will they even be alive when I come home?" I wonder when leaving the office, but I've gotta say that worrying about goldfish feels better to me than worrying about work. At least I want these things in my home. I vaguely recall Truman and Agda being housed in a rather small glass bowl without a filter or aeration, which according to pretty much every single goldfish forum I've stalked is complete madness, and to the best of my recollection they lived for at least a year or two. You can bet your ass the bowl wasn't properly cycled either. The fish have only been with me for three days - it's hard to make myself relax and just try to assess the situation in a rational way. With this, like with most everything else, comes a kinda irrational fear of failure, and the desire to be the best at something even though I've never done it before, without any knowledge. I can be a total bitch to myself sometimes.
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